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On a joint family trip with my best friend, she watches me through an open door
The light shone through the crack in the door of the hotel room. You were alone, as was I, the children being downstairs in the games room with "her" - I hated having to share the room with her instead of you. But for now, that was the situation.

She had accidentally left the door unlocked, and it hadn't closed fully, so when you walked by it, you could easily see it was open. You peeked through the tiniest crack between the door and its frame, and could see straight into my room, right at the beds.

You knew that I was in, since it was agreed that she would take the kids downstairs for an hour or two, to let you make some phone calls and take care of some business, and I was planning to do the same. It was Friday afternoon, and we both needed to take care of things before the weekend, especially being six hours away from home.

You looked through the door. It really wasn't like you to snoop, but you saw the door open. You told yourself you were making sure everything was all right.

You saw some movement in the area of the bed, and realized it was me. You saw me as I walked from the bathroom to the bed and lay down. The lights were on in the room, so there was no mistaking what you saw.

You put your head close to the door frame and looked more closely, and you could make out clearly that I was lying on the bed, wearing a pair of grey, cotton gym shorts, and a red t-shirt. I had white athletic socks on, but no shoes, as I lay on my back on the bed. You remembered that I had gone down to the exercise room earlier, so my attire didn't surprise you.

You watched me as my hands made their way to my shorts, and you watched as I lifted myself off the bed, at the same time sliding my shorts down my legs and off of me.

You watched as I lay naked from the waist down on the bed, and you watched as my hands moved down to my cock.

You'd seen my cock before, but only in images; videos sent a long time ago, and to be honest with yourself, you hadn't really looked that closely at it. But you had watched me before, masturbating for you on video, as a show of trust between us, and to arouse you.

You had long since deleted the videos, or so you told me, and you only vaguely recalled the image of me sharing with you one of my most intimate moments.

I had never wanted there to be any question that I trusted you fully, without any reservations, and the videos had been a way of showing that in concrete terms. In my mind, there was nothing that made me more vulnerable, to you or to anyone, than sharing such a personal moment, and I trusted you never to take advantage of me having opened myself up to you in such a way. And in the time since then, you never had given me any reason to question that trust.

But now you thought to yourself, you were breaching that trust. Looking at me through the door, quietly, secretly, watching me once again at my most vulnerable and at such an intimate time. Without me knowing you were watching. You questioned yourself, wondering if this surreptitious observance was somehow breaking the unspoken pact between us of trust.

You couldn't stop watching. Your face right against the door frame, watching me as I lay on the bed, my hands both manipulating my cock, starting out flaccid and pliant in my hands, but so clearly visible to you. It seemed so unimposing in that state, so soft and gentle, and you marvelled at how I stroked it with both hands, alternating, and gently massaged it, to bring it to life.

You watched me, intent on not missing a stroke, as my cock slowly grew erect, as it extended in length and expanded in girth. You could clearly see from your vantage point the strength of its hardness, the gentle curve in the shaft as it grew to its full size. Now it seemed to be the cock you remembered from the videos.

You remembered all the times we had spoken about my cock, about my sexual experiences in the past. How I had never really described it myself, leaving it to the words of others. How I had met that woman out of town during business, and had the solitary encounter in an office, my first time straying from fidelity, and how she had pulled my cock out of my pants and commented, "nice piece" before taking me in her mouth. Or the make-out session in a colleague's SUV in an underground garage, unexpected and almost on a lark, when she grabbed me through my pants and said, "nice equipment". Or the comments from a certain mutual friend, about my "beautiful cock".

You knew me better, though. You knew that when I conveyed those comments, it was never to brag. You knew my comments that a cock is just a cock, and I never claimed to have the biggest, the thickest, the most anything when it came to that department. If anything, I downplayed my cock, and always any boasts were about my oral skills. You'd seen it anyway, I figured, so why try to build it up into something it isn't.

Yes, you remembered my cock from the videos. And you found it pleasing, aesthetically. You could imagine yourself, and you had imagined yourself at least on one occasion, taking my cock into your hands and stroking me the way you saw me stroking myself on the video. And on one occasion, you had imagined taking me into your mouth. You had seen me ejaculate in one video, and you imagined the feeling as I did so in your mouth, imagining how I tasted.

Now you watched me again, but this time it was in real time, no video and no opportunity for editing. You watched through the crack in the door as I held my rigid cock in my hands and stroked it, slowly at first. You noted that I did not seem to be using any kind of lubrication, just skin on skin, and you watched as I stroked up toward the head of my cock how the skin would be pushed up somewhat on my cock, toward the head, the flesh still being soft and pleasing despite the rigidity of my erection.

You looked through the door, your head tilted so your eye would be as close to the crack as possible, maximizing your view of the scene. You watched as I lay half naked on the bed, and from the side you could see the flesh of my buttocks against the floral print bed covers, and above you could see the low hanging testicles in their sack, probably hanging low after I had been exercising downstairs earlier and generating body heat down below. You saw them framed by the bush of brown pubic hair, untrimmed, that rose from my groin, and from that also emerged my cock.

You stood transfixed, oblivious to the fact that another person, any person, could come walking down the hallway at any time, watching you as you peered into my hotel room, not knowing that you knew me and knew exactly what you were watching. Unknowing that you were not just some random voyeur, but were, in fact, the best friend of the person being watched.

You stood transfixed as you watched me switch to stroking myself only with my right hand, watching as I pushed my t-shirt higher up my chest with my left hand, and watching as I began to touch my nipples. To pinch them. To caress them as though my left hand belonged to a lover, and not to myself.

You watched as my hard flesh emerged from my fist in a rhythmic game of hide and seek, being obscured by my fist on each up-stroke, emerging erect and defiant on each down-stroke .

You watched as I touched myself, oblivious to the eyes peering through the door.

This was different than the video. When I took the video, I was aware of my audience, aware that I was a performer and not truly alone.

But this time, I was alone, at least in my mind, and I was unaware that my most private moment was being observed by you.

You could see the difference this time. There was no rush to climax, since I was not bound by the constraints of the size of a video file which I would send you by e-mail. I didn't have to climax in two minutes or less, to be able to make a video that would be small enough to send. No, this time I could take my time, and you watched as I brought myself to the edge of climax, only to slow down and even release my cock from my grip, to bring myself back down and extend my session.

When I released my cock, you stared intently at how it rested perfectly rigid, laying horizontal to my body and pointing directly at my face, and you watched as I tightened the muscles in my buttocks and abdomen and in my groin, to make my horizontal erection lift up somewhat, to an almost 45 degree angle, pointing above and behind me.

You watched as I tensed and relaxed my muscles, making my hard cock dance before your eyes, lifting and dropping rhythmically. You wondered why I did this, as there was nobody watching the spectacle, as far as I knew, and you wondered if I did this because it felt pleasurable or simply because I could do it, to prove to myself that even as I aged, the muscles still worked as they always had.

You didn't know what went through my mind as I played with myself, and you simply watched me.

This time was also different than the video. You were standing in a public hallway now, and you dared not touch yourself, despite the growing wetness between your legs.

When you had watched the videos, you had the leisure of dipping your hands down below, to touch yourself and your wetness, to join in the masturbatory spectacle, even though unseen by myself. You had the leisure and you took advantage of it, to plunge a finger or two deep within your own sex, as you watched me, as you watched me ejaculate and reach climax for you, and as you watched me dip a finger into my own semen and taste it for you. You imagined doing that yourself, and you took your own finger, moist with your arousal, and tasted yourself.

But here in the hall, all you had was the moist and squelchy feeling growing inside of you, making you shift your legs as you stood.

You kept looking at me. You saw me pick up the pace and stroke my cock more vigorously with my right hand, and with my left you saw me play with my testicles, that seemed so full and ready for climax even from your vantage point. You saw me with my hand a blur upon my erection, and in your mind you wondered if it would feel any different to me, or more correctly, any more pleasurable, if that were your hand stroking me.

You saw me tense up, my buttocks tightening and my hips raising from the bed, as I suddenly stopped the furious jacking of my cock, releasing it and watching my white, creamy semen emerge from the head and shoot onto my belly and then drip out of the head, drops falling to my body and drops falling into my pubic hair.

You saw me take my cock in both hands as I squeezed it, milking the last drops of my ejaculation out of it and watching it stream and drip down onto my body.

You saw me touch the head of my cock, dipping my index finger into the semen that rested at the tip, and bring it to my lips, and onto my tongue, as I tasted myself. You saw no expression on my face, not as if I were savouring my own arousal for pleasure, but simply as if I was testing matters, out of curiosity.

You were soaking wet between your legs, having watched me in this private moment, and you lingered even after I finished, to see what I would do next.

You saw me close my eyes, and tilt my head backward, and then you watched as I mouthed some words. From where you stood, you were perhaps only ten feet away from me, maybe fifteen at most, but with the door mostly shut, through that small crack, you could not hear my words.

You watched me mouth them again, and in your mind you believed I had spoken your name, followed by the words, "I love you".

You were wrong about what I said. I had actually said, "thank you" followed by your name. But I liked what you imagined that I had said better than my actual words.

It took a moment or two, but you regained your composure and walked the several steps back to your room down the hallway. Just before leaving, you tapped on my door so I would hear something, so I would be alerted to the door having been left open and I would get up to close it fully.

When we all met for dinner later in the evening, you appeared distracted, and at the time I could hardly know or understand why.

It was not until you told me all about what you had seen, after we returned from the trip, that I knew and understood.

And now I am the one who is distracted.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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